My Hiding Place
After looking out the window and seeing the coast line, I ran for the hole again, shaking unsteadily. I squeezed my seven year old body in as quickly as I could, the fear in my lungs making me move even faster. Once shoved in the small twelve by twelve gap rather awkwardly, I plugged my ears and held my breath. Closing my eyes was pointless, sunlight was completely obstructed on all sides, but I did it out of habit anyway, sometimes not knowing if they were closed or open. I could still hear the engine, muffled by my sweaty, diminutively small hands. It was too loud to be drowned out. I pressed my hands harder against my already squashed ears. I began to hum not wanting to hear the engine that reminded me that we were still moving.
I remember wondering if it was necessary to take the terrifying coastal highway to Southern California or if maybe there was some other, safer route. I asked my dad, but he always smirked and proclaimed, “This is the only way.” I never bothered to press him about it, but I knew there had to be other ways. Sometimes I think he enjoyed seeing me so frightened by the towering cliffs that raised the size of football fields. I held my breath so often when passing the cliffs that the sight of them frequently made me sick. My dad had grown up in California and could drive Highway One with his eyes closed. However, driving only feet away from the edge, the bottom of the cliffs held no comfort for me, being covered with jagged rocks that even appeared to stab the waves as they crashed on them.
I could still feel the motor home winding around and bending back into the cliffs of Highway One. My stomach seemed to be left behind, only to have it rush back making me even more nauseated. It was similar to ridding in an elevator where your stomach just drops out from under you. Despite my best efforts there was nothing I could do to stop myself from feeling the motion of the RV. At least I couldn’t see the ocean and the cliff’s edge when shoved behind the passenger seat. The thought of the edge alone caused me to begin to shake again. Finally I gasped for air after holding my breath for so long. Being close to the engine, it tasted like stagnant exhaust fumes, which only made me suck the air in faster and harder. Breathing in quickly already makes me dizzy, but combined with the engine fumes only intensified the whirling in my head. I could feel my eyes rolling into the back of my skull and welcomed it, hoping I would lose consciousness momentarily, and I did.
I drifted in and out of dream and nightmare. Sometimes I was aware that it wasn’t real, and other times I wasn’t. Over and over again I would see the mid-sized beige RV flying off the road and plummeting to the ocean and rocks below. I heard my own voice screaming and yet I knew I wasn’t. It was replaying in my head like a song that is on repeat making me more and more anxious.
I awoke from my nightmare sweaty, mildly disoriented and a little nauseated. I had no idea where I was. I began to blink my eyes rapidly realizing that they were open and I still couldn’t see. I started to panic trying to move my arms that were still asleep from being laid on. This fear was far worse than the now seemingly childish fear of the cliffs. I kicked my legs and flailed rather clumsily while racking my brain trying to figure out where I was. I began to wonder if I was buried underground, thrown unceremoniously into a coffin whilst still alive. I started to hyperventilate for the second time. When I generated enough oxygen into my lungs again, the taste of the air revealed I wasn’t in a coffin, or underground, but rather, still in my hiding place.
I could no longer hear the engine and the RV seemed eerily still. Fear took over for the third time that evening. Did my family leave me? Did we finally fall off the cliff? Why weren’t we under water? A thousand scenarios went through my head, each one making my mind spin in thought. My dad’s snoring broke my reverie and I understood that we had stopped for the night. I slowly stopped struggling so violently with my stiff limbs and wriggled myself out of the small confined space. The moon lit up the RV through all windows with a soft, cream colored, dull light that allowed my eyes to adjust quickly.
I looked back at my hole that had once given me so much comfort and solace. It now brought a new emotion, fear and the nightmare of being buried alive. My body got colder as the realization sunk in. I seemed to shrink even smaller in my already too big world and I had nowhere to run and even worse, nowhere to hide. I glanced at my hiding place one more time and knew it could no longer be my refuge from the deathly cliffs that surrounded me so often. I stood frozen, losing all track of time. I might have been there for hours before retiring to the small couch next to me, where I slept an eerie and vacant dreamless night.
I didn’t attempt to go back to my hiding place the entire trip. After being so terrified by the small confining space, I embraced the openness of the ocean next to me. The cliffs still make me nervous, my stomach still leaving me often, but nothing compared to the nightmare of being trapped, blind, and alone in my used to be hiding place.
1 comment:
Sara, I took 18 credit hours and was working two jobs one semester and I survived. If anything, I learned to use every spare minute wisely. You can do it! One thing I would encourage you to do is to get to know your professors. Chat with them outside of class. If they know you personally, they're more likely to take an interest in your future, give good advice, help you when you need it, and write good recommendations. Keep writing!
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